


he thinks of doing good (but it’s been a while)

by motleystitches (furius)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Cultural Differences, F/M, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 05:17:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10780350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furius/pseuds/motleystitches
Summary: Most days, Cassian Andor prefers not to remember he is officially married to Jyn Erso, but rumors of the Death Star bring them together again while the Alliance and the Partisans keep an uneasy truce.





	1. Family (demands your sacrifice)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for rebelcaptainweek prompts on tumblr.

“Jyn Erso’s in Wobani prison.”

It had been years since Cassian heard that name. It had been last week since he had seen it. The automated alerts went out every time he was in the medbay, but he had never had a visitor.

“Are we going to rescue her?” K2 asked.

“We are going to secure her release and bring her back to Yavin IV.” Cassian did a finally tally of the power packs and tightened the straps of his bag. 

“About time,” K2 tutted.

-=-=

Draven had not been a man known for his tact; unfortunately, current circumstances was forcing him to admit that it was both necessary and beyond his abilities. After arguing quite uselessly over the course of a few weeks, surprisingly, it was Senator Mon Mothma who presented him with a solution. It did not give Draven the peace of mind he wanted, but it did help, somewhat.

Draven laid out the background, the objectives, and the strategy in front of Cassian, who kept admirably calm throughout. No emotion flickered across his face. In any other circumstance, Draven would’ve perhaps saw it as an affirmation to his own training. As it was, his own planet’s custom did not quite allow him to be free from the twinge of guilt.

“One more thing,” he added as Cassian turned away after being dismissed. Cassian stood still, awaiting orders. Draven cleared his throat. “We must show good faith. It is a treaty.” Cassian’s expression became confused. That beardless face did nothing to hide the twist of his mouth. He looked so damned _young,_ all of a sudden.Draven looked to Mon Mothma, who said to Cassian, “Walk with me, sergeant.“

“Yes,” Cassian answered. He aimed a curious look at Draven, who looked away.

He looked away when Cassian signed his name on the document. He pretended not to see how red Cassian’s eyes were, later. Then Draven drank perhaps too much and got into a regrettable argument with Saw.

“I only have one daughter,” Saw ended up saying.

The treaty was concluded – the terms agreed upon, Saw couldn’t change anything this late – but Draven didn’t like the implication that the Partisans saw anyone of the Alliance as expendable. Particularly Cassian.

“And only one planet willing to keep her safe.”

Saw snorted. “She’s my best fighter.“

“Hah!” Draven let out a sharp bark of laughter. He had met the girl, albeit briefly. Jyn Erso was a sixteen year old zealot. Draven had seen her type throughout the war. They never develop a sensible sense of fear and usually didn’t last long. Mon Monthma and the council hoped that Cassian could steady her. They wanted the treaty to last and that depended on Jyn Erso being alive. They didn't know what it was costing Draven even to entertain the thought that _she_ might cut Cassian’s life short. It was Draven’s own fault, in a way, for making his pride too obvious. A foolish error, even if others would call it understandable. 

Saw was saying something else, but Draven’s attention caught by Cassian, looking sharp in the dress uniform Senator Organa had somehow found altered for him. The almost paternal pride at the figure, however, was somewhat dampened by the expression on Cassian’s face.

There was a young woman beside him; by her uniform, an Alliance pilot, so not the complication then. Her voice carried. “She’s got to understand. You’re an _intelligence_ officer, you go undercover all the time. The wedding’s just a formality.”

“Not to her, can you be _quiet._ ” Cassian said, then looked furious, apparently appalled at himself. Cassian was twenty-one. Others have given their lives to the Rebellion. He had sworn the same, except Cassian Andor had been barely a teenager when Draven recruited him. In a moment of weakness, Draven stood up and almost went to him, then he remembered the role he played. 

He sat down again and tried to talk to Saw again. He was sure, somewhere, between the ranting and the ravings, there were things he could use later. The idea that it was perhaps a very shrewd act did not escape him.

In the morning, Cassian would be on a mission with a team including the Partisans. Jyn Erso would go on an Alliance-sourced mission. It was the least Draven could do for Cassian.

-=-=

“Would you like to review her file?”

“The layout of Wobani would be more useful,” Cassian said.

“I disagree. An understanding of her temperament and tactics would increase the success of the mission.”

“No,” Cassian said again. “We should review the topography of the labour camp. We did our part in finding her, we are backup here.”

“I don’t see why. She’s your wife,” K2 said. “If anything goes wrong, it’ll still be your responsibility.“

Cassian frowned. “No, it wouldn’t,” he answered. “Nothing will go wrong. We’ve gone over everything.”

But it turned out K2SO was right. Jyn broke Tazi’s arm and dislocated Dzoran’s shoulder before Kay stopped her.

She didn’t recognize him. He didn’t expect her to. After all, it had been years since they last saw each other.

-=-=


	2. Comfort (is your reputation)

Cassian Andor had been on a mission in Coruscant when his mark first seduced him. She pressed him against the wall, snaked his hand in hers, and asked whether he’d like company in the cold city towers. 

When Cassian didn’t reply, she asked again and pressed even closer. Cassian’s afraid she would be able to feel the blaster hooked onto his belt. He grabbed the hand curving around his back and tried to kept his expression stern.

When she asked a third time, “Go with her,” said Tazi in his ear. There’s laughter in his voice. “Get the data chip when she’s asleep.”

Cassian knew six ways of putting a human to sleep without harming them. He smiled and followed her to the bedroom, but he was nineteen and she was a very attractive woman- the lover of generals and senators, with ties to the underworld and the Outer Rim crime families. He didn’t know how to take off a woman’s clothes, so she helped him, somehow taking off all of his as well.

He fell asleep and didn’t wake up until she was long gone. She left the datachip behind, however, so the mission was not a failure except for his failure to conceal what he didn’t know from his team-mates. But he worked in intelligence and they didn’t; the tape disappeared.

Draven also made it very clear that it was not to happen again. “You are an officer,” he said. “We are barely tolerated in the Alliance and rogue actions confirm their worst fears about what we do and our loyalties.” Then he shook his head and spat out “nineteen” as if it was a curse.

Cassian couldn’t help his age. He felt the unfairness of the situation. He felt, disturbingly, a fondness for the memory despite the shame that was rapidly consuming him because he had not safeguarded the reputation of his team, because he had discarded his own safety, because he had compromised the integrity of the cause. He could have drugged her drink, put her out temporarily, he could have done a dozen things other than what he did. 

Then Draven had Cassian confined to missions only with veteran members of the intelligence. Cassian scouted, he provided backup and stayed away from parties deemed too full of imperial decadence. He became a surprisingly good slicer of imperial security droids.

It was a year before the Partisans made contact and Draven deemed Cassian had been suitably chastened to go in an off-world mission solo.

-=-=

Before walking back to the pilot seat, he took down an icepack and held it in front of Jyn.

Jyn Erso looked at him sideways, the menace and disapproval in her eyes new and strange. Cassian did not look in the mirror often, but K2 tracked people’s response to him. K2 also cut his hair, shaved him (when he remembered), and sometimes commented that he was aging faster than the general population probably because of too many days without sleep. Cassian was absurdly aware of what he looked like and how much he changed under her scrutiny. He rubbed his hand against his face.

She gingerly touched her neck, took the icepack, then efficiently wrapped a piece of cloth around it. He avoided her eyes, which followed him around the cabin, the gaze turned curious, assessing, weighting.

The men whom she injured were nursing bacta patches against their wounds and speaking between themselves about Cassian. Cassian knew because K2 was narrating the scene in the cabin and occasionally sending a sarcastic rejoinder. He’d refrained from using the word ‘wife’, which Cassian was only a little grateful for.

“It’s a quick jump,” he said after a while, mostly for Jyn’s benefit.

The transition team took over after they landed. He was in the shower when the med alert blinked red. For a moment, he thought about going then remembered that it wouldn’t be expected. She was safer than she had been in a long time. Safer and closer.

-=-=

Cassian never told Draven how he managed to impress the Partisans. He himself was impressed by the Partisans. It seemed that he had been lying on rooftops or hiding in corners for so long he had forgotten that he had signed up to _fight_.

“Nineteen,” Draven said again, seeing him flushed and smiling on the landing pad. Yavin’s sun was beating down on the runway and everyone had come out. It was not everyday the Alliance liberate a slave planet without losses.

“Twenty,” Cassian had corrected automatically. There were streaks of brown stains on his jacket. 

Draven looked at him as if he had grown a tentacle, then laughed. “Fine, twenty.”

Later, Cassian learned that was the day the negotiations began.

-=-=

“Captain Andor, rebel intelligence.” Mon Mothma introduced him. 

The deja vu must be on purpose.

“Sergeant Jyn Erso.”

“When was the last time you saw your father?” Cassian asked.

“So there’s to be an interrogation after all,” Jyn said. In the half light of the council room, harsh lines around her eyes and mouth were visible. “I remember you kinder.”

Cassian ignored her. “We need you to take us to him.”

“I haven’t seen him for the last fifteen years,” Jyn answered. “I wouldn’t know where to find him.”

“But you know how to find Saw.”

Jyn became quiet. At length she sighed. “And you don’t. So much for the treaty.”

It had fallen by the wayside over the years: a few shared codewords, an occasional unexpected depot supplies or information to show that they were still listening, but leadership changed, priorities changed. Old rules became quaint, half-remembered until contact with Tavik dredged up the past. 

“You weren’t who you said you were.”

“Trust goes both ways, Cassian,” Jyn said, heedless of who else was in the room. “Should I have recognized you?“

Disturbed, Cassian fell silent. He could feel with the questions forming. Draven’s eyes were on him. Mon Mothma’s, too. Force, who else was in the room? Too many people. 

Jyn, perhaps detecting the tension, stopped speaking and started to glare, but her silence was small comfort for everything they lost. 

-=-=


	3. Undercover (is not under the covers)

When the name ‘Erso’ started leaking out of the imperial reports they intercepted, people started look at Jyn, but she was a girl and looked more like Lyra than her father. It helped that human features were oftentimes indistinguishable for certain races. 

“She’s young,” Maia reminded Saw. “And you’re marrying her to a spy.”

“She’s just small for her age. You liked him.” Five years would not be a great difference as they get older. He had seen the man. Jyn could take out a fully armored Stormtrooper and Cassian was distinctively slighter than one of those. 

“I didn’t know I was vetting a prospective husband,” she hissed. “He is _Alliance_. Draven hand-raised him.”

“You are making him sound like some sort pet mynock,” Saw complained, then paused, reminded that the Ersos had entrusted him with their daughter. “There’s nothing wrong with him, is there?” 

Maia rolled her eyes. “Except for the fact that he’s exactly the sort of man you expect Draven would like.”

“Yes,” Saw said, pleased at the reminder. “Mothma assured me he’s their finest officer, even outside intelligence. Conversant in seven languages, versed in small arms, and a fine pilot. Draven mentioned he would follow orders.”

“And do you expect Jyn to issue them?” 

The sarcasm was unwelcome. “I expect Jyn to be safe in Yavin when it’s necessary.”

Maia sighed and said nothing more. 

Saw was too distracted by Draven’s attempt to eek information out of him to observe how Jyn took to the wedding ceremony. Coruscant customs, where Jyn Erso registered her birth, would not have permitted it so easily on account of her age. Liana Hallick, however, belonged to a different planet entirely. The name ‘Jyn Erso’ is buried in her name in another language to render the whole deal legal. After all, they were talking about the Alliance, who considered themselves a legal rebellion. Usually, Saw found the hypocrisy unbearable but Jyn was his daughter.

Saw gave Jyn a blaster and left Maia behind with her, just in case. For the Rebellion, for Galen and for Lyra, they had to part. It had been made easier knowing that he was giving her a better chance to live.

-=-=

In Cassian’s imagination, Jyn followed him down the hallways, but Jyn was waiting for him outside his room. Someone had shown her a way, after all. 

“You need to understand-” she began. 

He crossed his arms and tried to ignore her. She shouldn’t be here. Or perhaps she should. K2 was in an oil-bath. He probably would’ve reminded Jyn of protocol if he saw Cassian’s distress. 

But he was alone with her. “Cassian,” she said. “Listen to me.” Her hand rose toward his face. 

“We can’t do this here,” Cassian said as she came closer.

“What? People are going to see? To hear?” Jyn asked, naming the worries that crossed Cassian’s mind. However, her hand fell away to flutter somewhere around his waist. “What are you afraid of?”

“You were _her_ ,” Cassian said, under his breath. He was never sure, afterwards. It was a question that had become a gnarled knot in his head, better left forgotten than waste effort in untangling. Even tracking Jyn Erso had allowed him to think of her in the abstract: a name, an objective. Except, now she was in front of him and that _mission_ and all her declarations were as fresh as yesterday. “Aren’t you?” he asked, half hope.

“You are just being ridiculous. How could you be a spy if you don’t get the concept of spying?” The puzzlement in her face only made it worse. 

“Yes, I’m the spy,” Cassian said. “But all that time, you never gave me your real name.”

Jyn inhaled sharply. For a moment, Cassian thought that Jyn was going to hit him, but then she said, “So now you know why. Thanks for getting me out of prison.”

Her father, her parentage, the rumors of the Death Star- none of it was enough to erase the fact that once upon a time, Cassian had wanted to be hers, but then she left.

-=-=

“You are teasing me,” Jyn had said. “He wouldn’t say no.”

As much as the Alliance disapproved of Partisan tactics, they needed on-the-ground information that only the Partisans and their extensive network with local rebel groups could provide. Draven was an ambitious man, Saw had said, his fledgling intelligence initiative needed their support. 

“Have you ever known me to to tease? Anyways, that’s not the issue.”

It was, admittedly, a good point. Maia was Saw’s left hand, literally. She’s only teased people for missions.

“What do you think I’ll do?”

Maia cocked her head. “Knowing you. Something awful or violent. Stay in your room.”

“I don’t see why. Is he horribly ugly, old?” Jyn felt a sudden wave of fear. She recognized the feeling as a childish, but knowledge didn’t stop it. “Does he have bad breath?”

Maia frowned. “The man’s grieving. Leave him alone.”

Jyn had been looking forward to meeting another young human. Andor’s figure, seen at a distance, was trim and tight; he had floppy hair like Jyn’s, but cut short. They looked so soft that Jyn felt self conscious about hers. She had spent fifteen minutes brushing her hair every night since arriving on Yavin. 

-=-=

Cassian was awake in the dark. 

“There’s a tunnel,” Jyn’s voice said. 

“What?” The familiarity of it made him irritated and the memory made him sullen. “You didn’t use it last time.”

For the better, perhaps. Cassian did the calculation later. She had been sixteen. She was not the woman that Cassian had slept next to for three months. 

“Maia didn’t let me.”

“O.” Cassian remembered Maia. She died. 

“You said we are going to Jehda,” Jyn said. “I know that planet.”

“It’s the home planet of the cargo pilot, the defector with empire-wide warrant on his head.”

“Bohdi Rook,” she said.

Cassian couldn’t see the expression on her face under the low light when she said the name. 

“Would he know where Saw is?” he asked, almost unwilling to continue the thought. What did it mean if the pilot did or did not?

“He wouldn’t, but you are hoping he’s traveling in the same direction.” Cassian wondered whether Jyn was hoping the same and what reasons she had. Cassian remained silent. 

At length Jyn spoke again, “Do you still have a blaster beside your bed?” 

She wasn’t allowed any weapons, Cassian realised. Is this what she came for? “You can have one in the morning,” he said. “Let me sleep.”

She left. Cassian stayed awake for half the night. 

-=-=

By the time Draven realised the Partisans did not conform to the rules of the Alliance. it was too late. Draven said he should’ve known. Saw could not have recruited from all those planets and held sway over all those races if he followed the laws and customs of the Alliance. For the first time, he began to see the Senate and the senators like Mon Mothma as an obstacle, rather than means to an end. 

This was their chance. 

Unbeknownst to them, he sent Cassian on a mission with a Partisan liaison named Kestrel. Cassian had a different identity lest anyone realised who he was and what connections he had. It was agreed that it would be the same for his new partner. Nothing must be able to be traced back even from a Coruscant system. 

-=-=


	4. Chapter 4

In a vague way, Bodhi recognized that he should be less afraid, but the Partisans’ presence on Jehda had clearly changed in the years since he had left Jehda. The city itself had almost become unrecognizable. 

Nonetheless, he came from Galen Erso, bearing important information. Galen Erso, who wore an imperial uniform but spoke in the soft unobtrusive way of a man with conviction and intelligence. 

Bodhi admired him. He sympathized with him. When he was younger, the Temple of Whills had foretold a great fortune for Bodhi. Galen told him it was more than superstition. The word “Force” had gone out of the lexicon by the time Bodhi was old enough to read the news and Galen didn’t use the word. Instead, he revealed an idea that encompassed all and went beyond language. In fact, Bodhi thought it strained to be reflected outward from inside him. 

“Do I know a Bodhi?” Saw asked, as if he had no memory. 

“I came from Galen Erso!” Bodhi shouted, wishing Saw would remember. He had already given him the holodisk. “Jyn’s father.”

Saw peered at him. “Jyn? Jyn? My child? My daughter? Why aren’t you with her?” 

-=-=

For a woman with a pleasant face and a pleasant accent in the standards of the empire, his Partisan partner had difficulties observing the niceties of society. 

The way she talked about the backwardness of the Republic, the necessities for reform of how to maintain a peaceful galaxy, the way she railed against the selfishness of the older houses, eyes luminous and cheeks flushed in the most dimly lit restaurants- she captured attention.

Cassian’s felt his indulgent smile becoming a permanent mask, his thoughts straying to escape routes in the event of aborting the mission. 

She _would_ turn and say, sweetly, “What did you think of Colonel Raju’s party and his blue friend?” as if they were a real couple and so what if mid-rank human Imperials at their table now all looked to him, expectant. 

Cursing inwardly, Cassian mumbled a reply: quiet, unobtrusive, forgettable. He was a spy. He had orders. They did not include sparkling comments on Raju’s friend that the audience wanted. Someone at the table, however, did have a comment.

The Empire staffed its armies with human men, but it could not erase a few thousand years of infrastructure. Women like Kestrel’s identity still conducted the operations of the government, solved the logistical issues, and placed their favorites into key positions: their sons, brothers, and lovers.

Second-lieutenant Joreth Ward was clearly failing at being a promising candidate despite his wife’s best efforts. No matter, the mission was the deliver the comments, arguments, small-talk, rumors, and gossip that fueled the diplomatic chatter in the Galactic City to the Alliance. Perhaps his Partisan partner did the same, perhaps not. He was learning the shape of her smile at a good meal, a ribald joke; he could not yet know whether any of it was genuine. Or in fact, if she had another objective like he did. 

A week later, Cassian had to move to an old sector in the Galactic city to one of the first designed towers of the Empire.

“For your safety,” their host told them, the strain in his face almost visible. “This is a better place. All the amenities of the Empire.” Something had happened, yet Cassian had received instructions to keep the ruse and the ruse is kept better if his ignorance was genuine. 

It seems ridiculous, but Cassian couldn't question the messenger. Kestrel had dropped his arm the moment their host left. Cassian offered to put her jacket to into the closet. Joreth Ward was a polite and reserved man, nonetheless solicitous of his wife.

Then she kicked off her shoes and shucked off whatever clothes she was wearing with the bedroom door half open while Cassian measured the deliberate evenness of his breath until she appeared in front of him, dressed again. Her eyebrow raised as she watched him brushing off the lint. “You can actually hand it to the housekeeping droid.”

Cassian had never used a housekeeping droid before this mission, but had had never been necessary to blend into the personal lives of his targets. It occurred to him to wonder where she came from, how long she had been with the Partisans. Not long, perhaps, but it was impossible to tell whether she was younger or older than him. 

The imperial-designed towers were taller than the apartment they had been living. She was standing very far away from the windows. Perhaps she came from a planet where there were monsters in the shadows. Perhaps, she was merely unused to heights.

“Why do you do this?” he asked, as the housekeeping droid traveled to the bedroom and bleeped sadly as it collected the clothes on the floor. 

“Unlike you, I wasn’t raised on a backwater planet,” she answered, flippant, as if he hadn’t seen the calluses on her hands beneath the soft gloves she wore, as if she didn’t understand his question.

Cassian used one of his newer practised smiles, meant to be disarming though not quite in the character he was currently playing. He hadn’t had much chance to use it before. She looked at him for a moment, startled, then something like wariness settled around her. It was so strange that Cassian frowned. 

He woke in the middle of the night. “Move over,” she said, as if she didn’t have a perfectly good bed of her own. Then, her words warm in his ear while he nudged the safety on his blaster, she said: “My room is bugged.”

He offered to sleep on the floor. Half an hour later, her hand was on his shoulder. “The bed is too soft,” she said, almost tentative.“What’s your name?” she asked.

There were worse discomforts than sleeping with his belt and the sheath of his vibroblade digging into his hip, but how could she know? Cassian wanted to ask, but her face had become familiar to him, and the starlight climbing through the windows seemed to demand some sort of clarity. Truth could give the impression of intimacy. Perhaps she would share what she knew with him. The Alliance needed the info. He gave her his name. At least, a part.

“We need to sleep in the bed sometimes, Jeron,” she whispered. “Or one of us need to have an affair.”

Cassian almost scoffed, but she was right. He could be as unexceptional as he liked, but together they invited scrutiny. Security had been increased since their arrival. 

The bed for either of them was not large, but they were not large people. Layers of cloths separated them. Cassian surreptitiously moved the weapons beneath the bed.

From the pillow beside him, she yawned. “Goodnight, Jeron.”

And Cassian had a flash of thought that he had committed some fatal error in judgement. The target would have to be eliminated sometime during the assignment, but suppose she was here to prevent it? She was too unlike the Rebels he had known: too rough, too polished, too young and too old all at once, as if she had never chosen the path of her life, but merely hurtled through space, affected by every gravity. Such people were dangerous. They were informants, traitors, or confused- used by whichever side had them first. 

He watched her. He started learning the pattern of her breathing when she was asleep, the expression around her eyes, the accidental brushes of warm unguarded skin. He started to notice the myriad little ways she remembered what his favorite foods were, the ways she knew the side of bed he preferred. She took him to dine with her (their) imperial friends, scouted out offices for secrets. He spent as much time looking at her as he did anyone and listened for the goodnights with his name with something of a feeling of expectation mixed with an uncertainty that he could not name. 

And then she kissed him. 

They were in the gilded office of the highest ranking Imperial governor of the sector. The palace was a museum. “Is it better or worse if he didn’t mean any of it? That everything just fell into his lap without him actually wanting the reward?” she said, half wondering. 

Cassian was looking at the play of muscles on her back visible beneath the gauzy fabric of her gown, melding into the line of her back, and the curve of her hips. He had been feeling progressively drunk without alcohol since the party began. His fingertips tingled to touch the skin within reach and yet not. And she would look back at him with her eyes- 

He did not reply.

“What do you think?” she asked again. She turned and caught his gaze, not quite steady on her face. “Oh” she whispered, so softly that he thought he imagined it. Then she smiled and he knew that smile and the knowledge made Cassian still, waiting. She came closer and put her hand on his cheek, feathering gloved thumb over his mouth.

“He’ll suffer for it,” Cassian wet his lip and rasped, his tongue tasting silk.

“Perhaps more because how oblivious he is.” Her eyes flickered past Cassian’s shoulder, then her lips met his.

The heat of it blazed a hot trail down his back. He knew her clothes; knew her movements. He groaned from her mouth upon his again, ached from her hand on his skin, thrumming with anticipation, expectation. There was a danger in the body, the warring that this was not quite correct but also quite necessary somehow. He was already dizzy by the time her hand made its way below his waistband.

“Shh-” 

But he couldn’t help it. He wanted to touch her. “Let me,” he said, pleasure between his legs, heat between their bodies, unknown and overwhelming, so sudden the desire threading through all awareness. He needed to know whether she felt the same. He _wanted_.

She shushed him again.

“See,” she said. 

“Yes,” Cassian answered, staring at her flushed face, her swollen lips, felt the weight of her body _on_ him, against him: skin and muscle that makes him forget his own, eyes that penetrated that told him it did not matter. She reached out and caressed his face, her fingertip tracing along the corner of his eyes, his mouth. He turned toward it and kissed her naked palm.

“How reassuring to know the young are still young,” remarked a voice behind her. Her eyes widened, surprised. A dinner companion. The dry and acerbic tone of the wife of the general. “Lt. Ward, glad to see you’re the sort to reserve yourself for what mattered. We had wondered and almost despaired. You have the fortune of a charming wife.”

Cassian froze, but the door closed, the click of the door audible.

His pants were still down by his ankles. The embarrassment faded when she looked up him and smiled, dazzling in its warmth. Cassian couldn’t help smiling back.

“You will come with me, after, right?” 

“Anywhere,” Cassian had answered, thinking only of her hand on him, them intertwined in the comfort of a bed, their bed. 

He had not yet learned this about himself: that Draven had made him a spy out of what he imagined to be his own failures. Therefore, Cassian knew, after two months, all the answered that Jyn Erso would want; and that he would continue to lie, even unintentionally, so that his most ardent promises could and would dissipate like smoke. 

Second lieutenant Ward was a promising officer of the Empire, but Cassian Andor was already the best intelligence officer Alliance had ever seen. His life was the Rebellion’s.

-=-=

Bodhi had forgotten. 

“Bodhi,” Jyn said gently. “You’re the pilot.”

Yes, the pilot. He wanted to be the pilot. He told Jyn that. He was the pilot. He flew. Galen said he was the pilot.

“Jyn,” he remembered, “I met your father.” And he remembered Galen and there was Jyn. And he became confused, as if time had run forward and then backwards. 

“You are alive,” Jyn said, “You are with us now.”

“You’ll always be safe on Jehda,” Saw had said. She was the same age as him. Saw wanted a place for a base of operations: he promised protection. Like many of other planets, The Temple of Whills wanted blood ties as show of good faith. They would keep each other safe and there would be no secrets.

Cassian hovered on the edge of his vision. Jyn had on a expression something Bodhi had forgotten.

“He's on Eadu,” he told them.

-=


End file.
